


Coincidences Don't Exist

by ohhstark



Series: Modern AU Bagginshield [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Coffeeshop AU, M/M, Modern AU, Past Lives, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 10:57:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4017154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohhstark/pseuds/ohhstark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes. Whole and unmarked but for the eyes closed and the lips wrapped around a silent, half-finished prayer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coincidences Don't Exist

It could never be said that John Watson's life was boring. And it was only after Bilbo's house had been infiltrated by countless dwarves and an insufferable wizard that he finally found the excitement in his. But was he Bilbo? Was he John Watson? Was he a hobbit more Took than Baggins or was he the army doctor turned detective turned doctor again? He didn't know. Couldn't tell the difference between them. Couldn't reconcile the distance between the two lives dwelling in his body, inside his mind. It was like to drive him mad. But Thorin, Sebastian, held fast to him. Day and night. Night and day. Held him through the screaming and the crying. Held him though by all rights, he should have let him go.

Thorin was a loyal man, always had been. That hadn't changed even with the millenia between their lives. John wrapped himself around the idea. Tried to tell himself that the love of his life was there, whole and happy. There to love him, cherish him, stay his hand from the edge of madness. And for a short while, it worked. They were happy again. Whole again. They went about their lives. John to the doctor's office he worked. Sebastian to whatever it was he did. They'd even discussed trying to find all of their companions again. They kept seeing glimpses of someone in the papers who looked almost similar to Dwalin. Another at the market who might have looked like Ori. It was a sign, they knew, to find their friends. But before they got the chance, something dreadful happened.

It was a summer day. Two years from the day that John and Sebastian had been reunited. Two years from the day their futures had finally began to look up. And it all came crashing down around them. John had left the windows open. It wasn't sweltering as Britain's summers were known to be, but it was getting there. There was a light sheen of sweat covering his brow as he shook the paper out. Sebastian had all but crumpled it up before he left earlier in the day. John suppressed a laugh of exasperation. A laugh that died in his throat before it had truly begun.

Staring back at him from the front page of the paper was none other than Sherlock Holmes. Whole and unmarked but for the eyes closed and the lips wrapped around a silent, half-finished prayer. A picture that should never have been put into the paper, but too big a mark in time to be left out. John felt the ice crawl up his spine. Sherlock Holmes alive and well for five years. His best friend alive until the moment he'd been dragged back to England. Sherlock. Sherlock. Sherlock.

He felt the world tilt. Felt his knees tremble and give under the weight falling on his shoulders. His friend. Found. Five years too late. With his blood curdled to rust and his heart to beat no more. John tried to think, tried to see past the black encroaching on the corners of his vision. He grabbed for the paper before he collapsed completely, dragging it down into his lap. His eyes struggled to find meaning in the words. _Suspected foul play. Territory wars. Moriarty._ What did it all mean. What could it possibly mean? And what did it have to do with Sherlock's death?

The furrow between his brows deepened. Maybe it wasn't in the words. After all, a picture could say much more than some flimsy reported called Marvin Peacock ever could. He let his eyes settle on the photo again. Careful, so careful, not to look at his friend's face. He looked at the hand dropped to the side of the gurney. He let himself sneer at the people in deer stalker hats crowded around the great and terrible Sherlock Holmes' empty body. And then he saw. Truly saw for the first time in such a long time. 

Sebastian Moran, his face in profile, his hand in a glove wrapped around a pistol that he was trying to shove into the pocket of his coat. There were probably a million different reasons for the bizarre nature of his actions. But it was the middle of summer in Britain. The middle of what promised to be one of the hottest, most insufferable summers they'd ever witnessed. So why was he wearing gloves and a coat?

Sherlock Holmes had never believed in coincidences. Neither did John Watson. 

**Author's Note:**

> So please don't hate me...I think one more chapter after this?


End file.
